


Follow Me to Ruin

by orphan_account



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Childhood, M/M, Neglect, undefined relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Character studies of Owen and Ianto, nonlinear series of drabbles. If you look at it from an obscure angle, it all fits together.</p><p>“No, instead I got to watch you and Jack kill her, and then use her memory to manipulate and twist your way into my bed.” Ianto spat.<br/>Owen jerked his head away, violently breaking eye contact. “I’m not him, Ianto.”<br/>“That’s the only appealing thing about you, Owen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drag Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Combat.

Owen sat on the autopsy table, palms resting on the edge of it. He shut his eyes and let out his breath.  
He still saw her face when he closed his eyes. A beautiful woman in a deep red dress, his hand lost somewhere in her dark hair.   
He could still remember her scent, and the memory of watching her plane disappear into the clouds pulled at him in a way he’d forgotten how to feel.   
Owen swallowed down the fear, forcing his eyes open, looking up the stairs towards his team. He heard them talking, moving around, Jack’s loud voice, Ianto’s subdued tones.   
Tosh’s computer was playing John Coltrane’s In a Sentimental Mood, and there was something in the thick atmosphere of jazz that reminded Owen of his mother’s sick lipstick smile, of Katie’s forgetful eyes.   
Owen pushed himself up off the table, heading up the steps to his team, trying to ignore the way Tosh was staring at the wild colors of bruises on his face.

A low, sarcastic voice split Ianto’s composed sip of coffee.   
He suppressed a pained sound, scalding his lips on the hot beverage.   
He met Owen’s gaze, and lowered the coffee.   
“I’m heading up to get some air, those bodies were fucking rank. You want me to grab dinner while I’m out?” Owen asked.   
Ianto looked meaningfully at Owen’s arm, still bandaged. “You’re going to need help carrying it back.” He noted. Owen frowned.   
“Well then find out what Tosh and Jack want, I’m taking the Lift.” He walked away, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of his chair.

 

The sun had broken through the clouds, reflecting off puddles of water on the pavement.   
Ianto watched Owen tilt back his head and breathe in the smell of fresh rain.   
Owen shot him a look, then focused forward, hands in his coat pockets.   
“I didn’t ask you to come, you know.” He said softly. Ianto blinked, continued walking.

Silence, for a few moments, before Owen broke it by shoving Ianto into the cement wall of the closest building and pressing his body flush against the Welshman.  
Ianto gasped, winded, hand already on Owen’s arm, controlling it.   
“Owen,” He managed, before the smaller man pressed his mouth against Ianto’s.   
Teeth grazed Ianto’s skin and he choked down a moan, body trembling for a better taste. Still, he pushed Owen back, eyes looking up for a CCTV camera, a curious onlooker.

 

“We- we shouldn’t Jack’s watching,”

“I don’t give a flying fuck who’s watching, Ianto.”

“I can’t hurt him like this.”

Owen’s laugh was hollow, angry. “He’s not your bloody boyfriend, he’s your boss, Ianto.”

Ianto whimpered, feeling Owen’s teeth nibble at his Adam’s apple.

“Owen, Owen. Don’t do this; I know you just want to forget about her. But that’s not what we’re about, remember? This isn’t just about using each other to get off anymore, Owen.”

“Fuck! Don’t you see? It’s not about her. It was never about her. It was about losing myself in something, someone, who didn’t already fucking belong to someone.”

Owen’s breath was sharp, Ianto could feel it hot against his skin.

“I want to be with you. I do.” Ianto confessed in a whisper.

Owen pressed him into the wall, his temple against Ianto’s cheek.

“You’ve got to stop fucking saying that, it just makes this worse.”

 

Owen stepped back, hand touching his lip, trying to retain the feel of Ianto’s bitter kiss.   
Ianto shut his eyes, trying to control the hemorrhaging emotions.   
“Owen” Ianto reached out, grabbing Owen by the jacket, pulling him back in, crashing their lips together.   
Owen’s hand slipped down Ianto’s wrinkled white shirt, popping a button open, fingers brushing against the soft, lightly haired skin.   
Ianto pushed against him, breathing hard, pulling Owen by the collar of his jacket farther into the narrow alley.   
Owen hissed in pain when his arm slammed into the cement wall, pinned for a moment by the small of Ianto’s back.  
Before Ianto could react, Owen was on his knees, Ianto’s trousers tugged down to his thighs, Owen’s mouth moving against Ianto’s prick through his briefs.   
Ianto pulled them down, letting Owen’s tongue lick over the tight, naked skin.   
His fingers carded through Owen’s short hair, digging in, egging him on. Ianto’s breath shuddered.

 

About fifty minutes later, Ianto walked back into the hub, back straight.   
He reached down to smooth a crease in his shirt, but his tie was slightly askew, hair ruffled by Owen’s fingers, mouth red, and a bruise peeked out from under his shirt collar. Ianto opened the carryout, hoping the smell would mask the scent of Owen’s aftershave and sex.   
Tosh and Gwen took the boxes of takeout from him, all smiles and thankyous.   
Jack stared at him from across the Hub, an unreadable expression on his face.   
Ianto turned, breathed out a few swears, and followed Owen and the girls into the conference room.


	2. Abort

“She was pregnant.” Owen murmured.

Ianto jerked his head up, blinking at the bright autopsy bay lights. 

“We found out before she started forgetting. We’d been engaged for weeks, and I wanted… I was so selfish, I begged her to keep it. I was so sure it was a little girl. Even when she- she would forget about the baby, I wanted to keep it. Because then I’d still have something from her.” Owen choked out. 

He clutched a beer bottle in his hand, sitting on the steps, head pressed against the wall.   
Ianto bit his lip, afraid to make a sound when Owen was so fragile. 

“She woke up one morning, completely lucid, and she left. It was the last morning she remembered who I was, what we were together. She left. She went up to the clinic and took- took care of it-” Owen’s voice cracked, hand covering the tears that slipped out. He took a deep shaky breath. 

“I was fuckin- fucking talking to it, to the baby, feeling the bump, she seemed so happy, and then...” Owen waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. 

Ianto reached out, touching Owen’s neck, soothing him with a hush, hand running up and down his back, gentling him.  
He murmured nonsense, trying to work into Owen the same comfort Jack used to give to Ianto.   
Ianto listened to stilted words turn into uneven breaths, shaking Owen’s body with silent, painful jolts.  
Owen stifled the sobs into silence, face pressed against Ianto’s chest, tears staining his crisp shirt.   
Ianto kissed his forehead, resting his chin on top of Owen’s head. 

“She didn’t remember about the baby afterwards. She was so confused; I don’t even know whether she meant to do it. If she hadn’t- if we hadn’t tried to operate, maybe we could’ve saved the kid..” 

Ianto could barely make out the words that Owen mumbled into his shirt, voice breaking.   
Ianto shut his eyes and listened, hand feeling Owen’s vertebrae and ribs through his thin shirt.  
His mind drifted, wondering if he could convince Owen to come back to his for a real meal, not the top ramen, stale bread, and cold pizza at Owen’s.


	3. Soap Bubbles

Owen looked up at the light, leaning back on his elbows, stretching his back out.

He felt warm, happy, special. He felt like the kid on his first date, a couple on their honeymoon, the teasing sun rising over the ocean on holiday. 

Ianto leaned over the counter, eyebrows raised. “You helping or what?”

 

Owen let a groan out, low and animalistic.

His breath was released in one long sound, until Ianto tightened up at the sound, shoulders bristling.

Owen laughed sharply, standing out of his chair and picking up the plates, following Ianto into the kitchen.

He crept up behind the Welshman, kissing him on his right ear.

“Thanks for dinner, Ianto.” He murmured. 

Ianto flicked a hand up, waving him away like a fly, trying to hide the mad grin spreading over his mouth. 

Owen pushed in front of him, turning the taps on all the way, collecting dishes on the side as water filled the sink. 

Ianto mumbled about hot water and nudged the tap until steam came out of the faucet. 

Owen whined about OCD and cleanliness, but lathed the sponge up with soap and started on the first dish. 

Ianto stepped back, appreciating the scene. 

Owen had one hip against the sink counter, a stripe of skin poking out between his belt and shirt. Ianto resisted the urge to lick. 

Owen smirked over his shoulder. “Enjoying the view, are we?” 

He shifted, wiggling his ass none too subtly. Ianto rolled his eyes and slapped his butt, stepping to Owen’s side to toss in some more soap and begin drying dishes. 

“Tosh seemed happy enough today.” He commented. 

“Yeah? You think she’s found someone, don’t you?” Owen finished with a dish, used it to flick a bit of soap and water at Ianto. 

His lover’s face darkened, warning frown on his lips, disapproving. 

Owen’s smile widened, immature as ever. 

“Let’s not speculate. Last time we interfered in Tosh’s business, well. Mary. Tommy.” Ianto recalled. 

“Not our fault who she falls for. C’mon teaboy, pick up the slack.” 

Owen pushed a few more plates into Ianto’s arms. 

Soap bubbles rose up with the steam.

Ianto reached out, intending to pop one before it was caught, fragile and glistening on his finger. 

 

“You were right cheery as well, until Gwen pointed out that hickey under your ear. She thought you were in a fight with a weevil?” 

Ianto turned red, dumping more soap into the water. 

“Hey, there’s plenty of that already,” Owen complained, flicking soapy water at Ianto again, onto his hands. 

Ianto splashed him back, getting it on Owen’s sleeves and face. 

“Oi!” Owen cried out, grabbing Ianto’s wrist with a wet hand before the damp rag stung his cheek. 

Ianto laughed, pushing Owen into the counter, knocking the silverware and dirty pot into the sink with a crash. 

They froze, Ianto’s head bowed, lips on the corner of Owen’s mouth. 

Owen inhaled, eyes on those perfect cut lips. 

Ianto’s tongue flicked out, eyes low. 

Owen twitched, breath catching as the tongue almost touched his skin. 

Behind him, soap bubbles, steam, dishes waiting. 

“Fuck.” Owen whispered, catching a glimpse of those dark, bottomless lusting eyes.

“Yes, I believe that’s the idea, Owen.” 

Seconds later, Owen was sitting back on the wet counter, trying to shut off the tap, Ianto’s teeth on his collarbone, grazing the skin and kissing his neck. 

Owen reached up to cup Ianto’s cheek and laughed, seeing soap bubbles stuck to his hand, breaking against that pale white skin. 

Ianto pushed him farther up the sink, hand on his thigh, moving up his leg. 

Owen relaxed, leaning back, and fell back, right into the sink full of water. 

“Christ! Fucking- Ianto you bastard” Owen struggled to get up, just as Ianto fled from the room, laughing. 

Owen gave chase, the back of his jeans soaked through.


	4. Close the door, will you?

Ianto yawned, dropping his coat onto the hanger, looking up to find Owen in the bedroom doorway. 

“You, you’re looking for a place to stay?” Owen asked confusion plain in his voice, in his face, in the way he stared at Ianto’s overnight bag.

“Jack kicked me out of the Hub. We had a fight and, well.” Ianto laughed hollow, sick. 

The look on Owen’s face mirrored that sickness.  
Ianto began untying his shoes, spreading his things out on Owen’s counter.  
“Ianto… I think you should go home.” He said, voice quiet, slow. 

Ianto dropped his overnight bag on the floor, his anger and frustration evident in the tight lines of his shirt, the force of each motion.

“God, I don’t want to be alone tonight. You understand that, right Owen?” Ianto raised his eyes to meet Owen’s, meaningful, a sense of ownership.  
“Yeah… Yeah I do.” Owen slunk back into his room, sweatpants low on his hips. 

He pulled the sheets back, biting his lip.  
He slipped the bottle of alcohol under the bed.

Ianto walked into the bedroom, half undressed, slamming the door behind him.  
Owen jumped at the sound like someone had fired a shot. He shifted back, away from the door, radiating fear and discomfort.  
Ianto let out an exhausted breath, and then stopped, noticing the odd body language. “Owen- ”

 

“Don’t. Just don’t. This is my home, Ianto. And you can fuck me, you can yell about Jack all you want out there, but. I just can’t do that. Slamming doors and shit in the house.” 

Owen took a deep breath, staring at the bed sheets. He held it, body shaking slightly.

Ianto stared, caught completely off guard. Slowly now, he walked towards the bed, keeping his distance.  
He sat down on the edge, cautious. “Do you want me to go?” He murmured. Owen shook his head, showing a small smile.  
“Then tell me about it.”

Owen hesitated, watching him. “It’s stupid. Just childhood and triggers and all that bloody psychological mess – look I saw my mum raped, alright? I never had a dad, not really, it was just her, and she beat me, she took it out on me because she couldn’t fight them back or else they wouldn’t pay her”

Owen’s face crumpled and he turned away. Ianto sat frozen, shock on his face.

 

That was the first night they didn’t bruise each other.  
The first night that Ianto held him, that Owen tried singing him a horribly out of tune lullaby with most the words forgotten, because Ianto couldn’t sleep without a voice.  
Ianto told him about his first girlfriend and fell asleep with his head on Owen’s chest.


	5. That New Car Smell

“I hate weddings.” Ianto whispered under his breath.

Owen shrugged, walking away from the Hub, towards his car. “I’m just happy I didn’t have to see Gwen give birth to any baby aliens. Or act as midwife.” Owen growled.

Ianto bit his lip, following, silent.

Owen stopped beside his car, turning to face him.

“Alright, out with it, we’ve heard everyone complain tonight except you, wedding fairy. So what is it? You’re not single, you’re shagging Jack aren’t you, so what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Ianto’s face darkened, jaw tightening. “Shut up.”

“No, I really want to know, what’s the big dark secret in Jones’ past? Aw, were you all set to propose to Lisa? Well tough shit, you didn’t have the seating arrangements planned yet, or the invitations sent out, you didn’t have to watch her lose her mind one day, one memory at a time until she threw away the engagement ring, did you?” Owen snarled.

“No, instead I got to watch you and Jack kill her, and then use her memory to manipulate and twist your way into my bed.” Ianto spat.

Owen jerked his head away, violently breaking eye contact. “I’m not him, Ianto.”

“That’s the only appealing thing about you, Owen.”

The doctor smirked, leaning against his car, leering at Ianto.

“Oh you don’t mean that. I know you had plenty of reasons, bet you made a pro’s and con’s list before you even touched me that night. I bet you were running it through your head one last time before you went down on your knees and”

Ianto shoved him into the car, face a mask of anger. It would’ve been threatening, if it weren’t for the almost tender way he touched Owen’s throat.

Owen swallowed, looking down at Ianto’s wrist, then back up at his face.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips as he noticed exactly how close to him Ianto was standing.

 

 

\---20 minutes later---

 

“My sister was married young.” Ianto began.

Owen adjusted the seat, leaning it back a few degrees, his jeans pulled down in a mess at his knees.

Ianto was shirtless, fingers playing with Owen’s belt, eying the car, probably calculating the price to have it cleaned professionally after the mess they’d made of it.

“I was there at the wedding, it happened while I was working for Torchwood London. My parents were thrilled, supportive the way they’d never been before. They were there for her at every step of the way.” Ianto raised his head to meet Owen’s face.

He kissed him on the cheek, spontaneously. Owen shot him a warning look. _This is too much affection, I don’t do affection_.

 

“And I kept thinking. I’ll never have this. If I want to marry a man, they’ll never approve. It won’t be a big churchy thing. Not that I want that. The church involved. But there won’t be extended family, no proud father, no financial help or gifts, no acknowledgement. That’s why I wanted to marry Lisa. At least for a while I thought I did.”

Ianto shifted in the seat, beginning to realize how uncomfortable it was to hook up with the wrong coworker in the back of his car.

Owen’s lips were pink, open. He was watching Ianto, reading him. Trying.

But Owen’s face betrayed him again. _You deserve those church bells._


	6. Wake Up Call

Ianto moved to get out of bed and nearly fell, blankets tangled around his leg.

Owen smiled, eyes shut, face half buried in the pillows.

Ianto cursed softly, stumbling and tripping out of the bed, onto two feet.

The light coming through the window was still dim, just past dawn.

Ianto stifled a yawn, heading towards the bathroom for a shower. He pulled a clean towel out of the cupboard, looking over his shoulder at Owen’s sleeping form.

He left a note on the bathroom mirror, reminding Owen to pick up breakfast before he came into work.

 

Ianto sipped his coffee, flicking Owen’s relaxed face with one of his favorite ties.

Owen flinched, eyes cracking open. “Mmph, ‘time issit?” He mumbled.

Ianto’s lips twitched. He looped the tie around his neck, collar popped, and began to tie a double-Windsor.

Owen sat up in bed, reaching a hand up to stop Ianto’s fingers. Owen tilted his head, leaning in for a kiss, eyes still lidded.

Ianto pulled back, finishing the knot. “Brush your teeth first.” Ianto ordered, sitting down on the end of the bed to tie his shoes.

 

Owen moved in to nuzzle his neck, kissing the side, just above the collar.

Ianto ignored him, keeping his focus on the shoelaces until Owen nipped his ear.

Ianto jerked, aroused and startled.

He turned his head and Owen kissed his cheek, slipping out of bed and heading towards the bathroom to avoid a reprimand.

 

\-------

 

Jack was standing at the coffee machine when Ianto walked in.

“Good to see you, I’ve been missing that fantastic coffee of yours. Any chance…?” He asked, holding up an empty mug.

Ianto nodded. “Of course, sir.”

He started working with the machine, taking the mug from Jack.

The tension between them was palpable, a sexual and emotional tension that Ianto intently ignored by avoiding Jack’s eyes.

“Ianto, about last night…” Jack hesitated.

Ianto didn’t react, but waited patiently for the coffee to begin filling the mug.

“I’m sorry about the mess Gwen and I left. We were both exhausted, she had to get home, you know I thought I’d have Owen check out the bruises on her ribs, she may have cracked a few…” Jack went on, smile tight.

 

 

Ianto felt sick, standing there with a fresh mug of coffee smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg.

Jack may as well rub it in his face. Ianto’d already cleaned up the mess and taken Jack’s coat to be dry-cleaned.

There was hardly any blood on it from his encounter with the weevil, which Ianto had already taken care of.

However, Gwen had certainly left her mark. Ianto had found dried cum on Jack’s coat, an extra condom in Gwen’s ripped pants, and Jack’s pheromones on Gwen’s shirt.

Ianto had cleaned it up, trying not to think of how it felt to see Jack giving himself sexually and emotionally to someone else.

He bit his lip, trying not to snap at his Captain as he went on talking.

 

Silent, Ianto waited for Jack to finish talking, handed him his coffee, and walked away without a word.


	7. The Absence of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: hinted non-con, graphic sex, violence, lots of hurt and things you don't need to read. 
> 
> Contains potential triggers. Please just don't read this, it's f-ing painful for me to look at. Yes, you will definitely hate me for writing this. Especially if you are a Janto fan.
> 
> I've edited this for content, but you're still more than free to comment on it, even if it's a comment of blind anger and confusion.

_Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?_

 

 

Jack’s lips were pressed against the corner of Ianto’s mouth, tongue brushing against the Welshman’s skin. Ianto moved back, edge of the desk digging sharp into his legs. Jack moved closer, boxing him in, even as Ianto tried to make himself smaller, forcing some space between them. Jack stopped, not an inch away from Ianto’s face. The younger man was breathing, eyes close, fingers caught on Jack’s bracers, in his belt.

He bowed his head, breathing in the pheromones and lust that radiated off of Jack. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, making Jack’s cock twitch. Jack moved his hands down from Ianto’s hips, onto the desk, moving to violate the little space there was between their bodies. Ianto bit back a groan, one hand slipping further under Jack’s belt. Jack pressed an open kiss to Ianto’s throat, which quickly escalated into biting. Ianto shivered, tilting his head back, giving access to Jack, even as his hand fumbled in Jack’s trousers. It wasn’t long before Jack was stepping back, smirking. Ianto was still hard, eyes lidded, clothes and hair disheveled.

Ianto reached a hand up, touching the tender skin of his neck. He glared at Jack.

“I don’t want Owen to know, I thought we agreed,” He growled. Jack’s smile widened.

“Ianto Jones, the agreement was that you would address me as ‘sir’.”

He stepped back into Ianto’s space, palming Ianto through his clothes. “Yes- sir.” Ianto breathed.

Jack took his hand away, putting his hands in his pockets, eyes shining. Ianto kept his hands on the desk, obedient. “Please, sir.” He begged, breath uneven. Jack took another step back, distancing himself. Ianto shut his eyes tight, thinking of Owen’s hot mouth on him, and reached down to stroke himself. He undid his belt, unzipping his trousers, pulling his pants down. He leaned heavily against the desk, breathing shallow. He imagined Owen licking him, encouraging him with a seductive look.

Jack’s hand landed on his wrist. Ianto froze, tensing up. “Turn around. Put your hands on the desk.” Jack ordered. Ianto opened his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He let Jack guide him into the position, bent over the table, then listened as Jack undid his own belt, pulling off his bracers. Ianto squirmed, close to the edge. He rutted against the table, begging Jack wordlessly, moaning when Jack put a hand on his back to steady him.

There was no transition, no preparation, before Jack was squeezing into him, forcing himself in. Ianto choked, unable to breathe through the pain. He lay on the desk, forcing oxygen down his own throat, spreading his legs for Jack. He couldn’t feel any pleasure from it. Just the pain.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ianto limped away from the Hub, towards the SUV. He told himself he would just drive to Owen’s, nap on the couch, shower and head back to the Hub. He opened the car door, eyelids drooping with exhaustion, wincing as he sat down. Turning the key in the ignition, Ianto’s thoughts drifted. Was it really worth it? Leaving Owen in the dark, making him suspicious, lying to his face, when they both knew there was still something between Ianto and Jack? Was Ianto being selfish, or would Jack really not let him go? Honestly, he knew Jack would let go. Ianto only had to ask. But could he leave either of them? Break everything they had together and devote himself to one of them? He could only imagine the tension that would leave in the workplace.

Ianto shut his eyes, then jumped, realizing he’d almost missed the turnoff for Owen’s street. He couldn’t remember when things had gotten this complicated, when he’d started wearing stage makeup to hide the bites and bruises on his neck, or lying to Owen and Jack about what he did, how he felt.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six hours later, Ianto stepped out of the shower, gritting his teeth. It was painful to shower when he was so sore and raw and tired, hot water hitting his tender skin. Owen was brushing his teeth.

Ianto froze, towel in his hand, naked. Owen stared at him in the mirror, motionless. He choked, bending over the sink, face hidden. Ianto quickly covered himself with the towel, darting out of the bathroom. Owen’s hand grabbed his wrist. Ianto gasped at the strength in his grasp.

“No. Go sit on the toilet.” His voice was ragged. Ianto nodded, slowly. Owen let go, knelt, and pulled the aid kit out from under the sink. Ianto closed the lid of the toilet, sitting down on the towel. Owen approached him. For a moment he was silent, eyes shut, composing himself. Then he was on his knees, opening the kit, starting to examine Ianto’s injuries.

He was quiet, methodical. Ianto didn’t bother to cover himself at all, letting Owen see the full extent of the bruising, even the shallow nail marks in his sides. Owen began to clean the cuts, palpating each hematoma to check for internal injuries. Ianto kept quiet, letting Owen examine the part of his lip where he’d bitten through the flesh.

“You’re staying in today. You need food and rest. This bruise on your leg, and these here, they’re going to swell up if you don’t stay off them.” Owen pulled a towel from the shelf, drying Ianto’s hair for him. “Look. I don’t care if you don’t want to talk. Whether you act like it or not, you’re a fucking grown-up and…. If you keep going back to him, it’s not my business. It’s really not, I shouldn’t bloody care.” Owen’s voice cracked, and he turned away sharply, hiding his eyes from Ianto.

“Owen,” Ianto reached for him. Owen swallowed hard, stepping away. “There’s nothing more I can do for you, Ianto.” He whispered. Ianto hesitated. He stood, finished drying himself, and walked out of the room.


	8. Drink Me

Everything was a bit blurry.  
Owen stared down at his shoes, narrowing his eyes at the bit of vomit there. He heard his name called and looked up, reaching to steady himself when the room shifted.   
“Jack?” He called back, wondering why his own voice sounded so funny.

Jack walked down into the med bay, concern written plainly on his face. “Owen, what’re you doing? Is that vodka?” He demanded.   
The Londoner rolled his head back, shutting his eyes, swaying. He was sliding his hand over the wall, trying to steady himself. “Umm, don’ feel good, Jack.” He spoke to the ceiling.  
Jack stepped forward, pulling the vodka bottle out of Owen’s limp hand. 

“Owen, where the hell do you think you are? I thought I told you to go home ages ago. Why’ve you been drinking…” Jack sighed, realizing there was barely any vodka left in the bottle.   
Owen smiled in his direction, eyes dark and glistening. “Yan’s gone home sick, doesn need me, ah’m just the fuck vomit on his shoes.” 

Owen leaned against the wall, feet slipping on the floor. Jack reached out, pulling Owen towards the steps, forcing him to sit down.   
“Where’s me fucking carkeys Jack, I kept tryina leave but coat’s all up there.” Owen squinted at the lights. “You seriously planned to drive home blind drunk?” Jack demanded. 

Owen snorted, wiggling in place. “Was s’posed to get buzzed. Promised Yannie I would stop. Pushed me. His da’ drank.” Owen blurted, digging in his pockets, probably for his keys.  
“’membered the bottle here, couldn’t help.” Owen looked down, realizing he’d lost the vodka.

“He just means so much. Wanna slip his finger in a golden ring with flowers and rice and he wants churchbells…” Owen yawned, slumping and leaning on Jack’s shoulder.   
Jack glared at him. “I thought you were always a quiet angry drunk.” Jack accused.  
“Sorry.” Owen mumbled. He kept mumbling the apologies, his hand somehow finding Jack’s knee, slipping up his leg, brushing against his crotch.   
Jack moved away, starting to stand up. 

“Nah, stay here mate, I’m so fuckin alone.” Owen didn’t close his mouth, just reached for the vodka bottle, hands closing on empty air.  
Jack moved the bottle out of the way just as Owen lunged, and somehow Owen's mouth was against his trousers, moving against his cock.  
"Sorry." Owen repeated, hand on Jack's hip, pulling him in.

Somewhere between his own exhaustion and the rush of weird arousal, Jack couldn't stop himself from thrusting shallowly against the heat. Owen murmured into his crotch, one hand attempting to loosen Jack's belt. Jack leaned back against the wall and focused on the heat surrounding his prick.

Jack reached down, touching Owen's head, guiding his mouth to the right spot. He breathed in, loosing himself in the uneven, drunk movement against him. "Sorry Ianto. Want to make it good ferr you." Owen was struggling with the zipper.

Jack jerked away, reality of what he was doing catching up with him. He pushed Owen away, shaking his head. "It's Jack." He said, stiffly, belt undone, zipper half down.  
"Jack." Owen nodded sagely, hands on Jack's trousers, unsure what to do with them. He stumbled back, away from the Immortal. "Sorry." Owen said again. "Stop fucking apologizing." Jack snapped, running a hand through his own hair, realizing what could've happened if Ianto had seen that, the way that Jack took advantage of Owen's inebriated state.


	9. Cut Your Losses

“What is this to you, Owen?” Ianto whispered. 

Owen stared at his hand, watching it shake visibly. He used to have such still hands, surgeons hands. Now he watched the blood trickle down his face, reflection caught in the mirror, razor held in his trembling fingers. He wanted to drop the razor into the sink and wash off his face, stop the blood from the cut. Instead he stayed frozen, unmoving. Ianto was asking for something he wasn’t supposed to give. He kept his mouth shut in a grim straight line.

“Don’t you know by now how this works?” Ianto stepped closer, one hand snaking around Owen’s hip. “I thought you wanted some honesty between us.” Ianto continued, pressing his body closer against Owen’s. “You know what you are to me. So what is this,” He trailed a hand over Owen’s shirt, up his chest, down his stomach, lingering on his leg. “To you?”

Owen had dropped the razor into the sink, turning his head to face Ianto, placing his hands on Ianto’s arms. He stared at Ianto’s ironed shirt collar. Two weeks ago, Ianto had insisted on Owen learning the proper technique for ironing his precious shirts. The faded bruises on Ianto’s neck, whether they were lovebites or fingermarks, Owen couldn’t tell anymore.

“Don’t ask me to say that.” Owen pleaded, moving his hands up Ianto’s biceps to his shoulders, holding onto him. “I want to hear it. I want you to realize what the words sound like, coming from your mouth, and I want to see the truth.” Ianto said, voice strong, severe. Owen kept his mouth shut, avoiding looking at Ianto’s face.

“Maybe I can help loosen you up…” Ianto turned so he was pressing Owen against the sink counter. He stooped, kneeling, pulling Owen’s boxers down, hand stroking Owen and Ianto opened his mouth, ready, licking his lips.

Owen struggled, trying to pull away, but Ianto held him down firmly. “Fuck Ianto, stop.” Owen gasped. Ianto ignored him, continuing to stroke and breathe against Owen’s flushed skin. “Stop! Ianto I know you don’t like to, I’m not doing this-“ Owen started pushing him away.

Ianto pulled away, leaving Owen panting. “If you want this to stop, you have to say it. We both know.” Ianto bit his hip, dragging his tongue across Owen’s navel, back down towards his cock. Owen squirmed, whimpering softly.

“Jesus. Owen, it’s just a blow.” He murmured. Owen was breathing shakily. He shoved Ianto away, pulling his boxers up over his hardness. Owen turned, hands on the sink, avoiding facing him. “Owen, what the hell.” Ianto frowned, moving closer. “Fuck off.” Owen spit into the sink, eyes clenched shut. Ianto laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

Owen snapped, spinning around, shoving Ianto back against the door of the bathroom, snarling. “I fucking care about you! I’m up every night waiting for you to come home, and when you do I can taste his whiskey on you, and your skin’s still sticky from his sweat. Sometimes I see you two walking out of the archives, fresh bruises and cuts all over your, and when you drag your sorry arse into my med bay I can’t bloody look at you- Christ.”

Ianto kept still, eyes wide at the emotions twisting Owen’s face. “Things used to be so bloody simple. Up till you and Jack decided you’d give it another go. Just up to now, when you take my secrets and use them against me. You don’t even know, how the fuck I got so messed up I couldn’t take a blow job. You just used me again. It’s all I am to you, your second favorite chew toy. But to me, you’re my soul. You’re the man who pulled me out of the day-to-day shit of life and gave me an opportunity to win you from him. You encouraged me. You let me think I had a chance.” Owen shook his head. Ianto shivered, staring into Owen’s deep brown eyes.

“I’ll keep sewing you up. Hell, I’ll even hold your hand when he finally cracks your ribs or fucks you without any prep. But I’m not going to pretend anymore. That you give a single fuck about me in return.” Owen let go, stepping away, out the door.

Ianto grabbed his hand, refusing to let go. “I do. I want to wake up with you, every morning. Yell at you over lunch and knock the coffee pot over when we shag. I want to be good for you.” Ianto murmured. “I just don’t know how to stop with him. I don’t know where my lust for him begins and my feelings for you begin, and half the time I don’t want to wake up to another day of lying to both of you. I just want you to keep going with me, because if you do I can hope you have faith that one day I’ll sort it, and I’ll make the right choice…” Ianto gripped Owen’s hand, voice desperate. 

“No. That’s not how it is. I’ve seen the way you look at him, and the days you go up to his office and sift through things like you’re scared of losing him. You care about him, Ianto. Whether you want to or not, you love the bastard. Whether him hurting you is unintentional, intentional, or consensual, it’s fucking sick because you keep going back to it, and you choose that fucking pain over me every bloody day of the week.” Owen snapped.

Ianto sighed. “Owen…”

“I never said a fucking word. I’ve kept my mouth shut. For your sake. So just let me walk now. I’m done with fucking you. It makes me sick to think of ever hurting you the way he does,”

Ianto pulled him closer, holding him tight, the first meaningful, emotional embrace he’d given him in days. Owen melted into him, quieting, resting his head against Ianto’s neck, hands fidgeting with the back of Ianto’s shirt, clinging to him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Ianto murmured nonsense in his ear, stroking his neck, soothing him. He frowned, worried. Owen had never snapped like that at him. Part of him wondered why he’d kept it in so long. Why he hadn’t left yet. Then he remembered why Owen was holding onto him so tightly, fingers digging into his skin. Owen loved him.


End file.
